Entrance! T-A-L-E!
by Shadow- Reaver Squadron leader
Summary: RWBY, their leader wishes to help those she can. TALE, All their leader wants is vengence, will RWBY just sit back and get steamrolled? Or will the promise of friendship deter the huntsman and huntresses away from this self destructive path?


A grandfather clock tocks in the background, masking the sound of sword being unsheathed. It was a slow movement, and the curving black blade, that looked very much like the bloody river Styx, shone with a well kept shine In the moonlight. The blades owner, steps from the shadows a Katar flipping up from his forearm. Gripping tightly the handles of both, he took a slight second to aim, then he moved, slicing across the ballroom-turned-training room and evenly cutting training dummies on either side as he whirled. Two steps later he jumped up, and time seemed to slow mid rotation. The flick of his wrist pulling the sword blade back into a large metal block, as what was the bottom flipping up to cover the blade, much like a butterfly knife, the hilt shifted slightly, offering a ergonomic pistol grip as he finished his rotation mid air. Flipping the katar back against his forearm, he gripped the gunblade waiting for the peak of his ascent, reaching it, he pulled the trigger, and the area below him was covered in a hailstorm of lead suspending him in the air until his weapon clicked empty.

Mid fall, the owner of the blade, now revealed fully as a human with a wolf's tail and ears l, reloaded the weapon pulled down the top of the metal brick and cocked the back down, forming a makeshift stock. The katar was flipped down once more, and he whirled about slashing at the throat of a couple dummies and using the Shotgun mode of the blade to blow them away. Once the dummies were down, he smiled, twisting the shotgun about until it unfolded back into the sword. Then the glass from the windows blew out, and the fauna was barraged by glass, the high collar on the navy blue jacket he wore hiding the almost sadistic smile as he turned to face the enemy, already having their guns leveled at the man.

"Don't move!" the special forces soldiers called, as the man's tail swayed excitedly, his triangular ears back against his head. Wasting no time talking, the fauna covered the distance between the man who spoke and his previous position with three powerful strides. His Katar swing with incredible precision, slicing out the man's jugular before the sword slashed across his chest, finishing the rotation, he flipped, kicking the man away and giving him the air to flip his blade into a shotgun again, dumping a round into the man, which sent them flying in opposite directions the dead man gurgling as his life drained onto the floor.

The Fauna on the other hand, had launched into the ground directly in front of another enemy, and using his momentum, redirected himself up and over, slashing the the soldiers exposed neck as he landed out of the circle he used to be trapped in. That's when the group got their bearings and opened fire, forcing the man to pull some pretty dance moves to evade or deflect the bullets with his blade. Approaching another soldier, he swiftly drilled his feet into the man's gut, using his sword as a support to flip over, allowing his buddies to pepper him with bullets. Another one down.

Some soldiers got the bright idea to change their weapons and charge the Fauna. This succeeded in pushing the man back as he didn't have an opening to strike. Though one presented itself soon enough, and using his sword as leverage, he swung bid arm around one soldiers neck swinging around to his back and dumping a pistol shot into the back of the man's head from the katar, directly after stabbing him through with the blade. Crumpling forward, the fauna launched off the man picked up his blade mid flight, and in a whirling slash, sliced both men's heads off their bodies. Kicking the gruesome balls into two of their compatriots, he closed the distance to the edge of the circle, and with a couple slashes, cleared a large gap in it before moving on to the rest of them his weapons launching him around at insane speeds as he skimmed the rest of the circle his gunblade slicing each in their throats.

By the end of the circle, he switched to his shotgun, and slowing down while he skimmed along the blood dumped a shell into each man before coming to a complete stop. That sadistic toothy smile as he looked on the carnage he wrought shifted to a low howl as the broken moon shone through, the thick scent of blood marring his clothes and weapons, and the contorted dead humans at each end of the room, still in the circle they started in. The cameras in the room would record the wolf-man with the navy blue jacket and the deep black cargo jeans holding both weapons angled at his side dripping blood onto the floor mid-howl.

The grandfather clock, splattered with blood, continued to tick in the background, time oblivious to it's thralls.


End file.
